


On a First-Name Basis

by Salty_but_Sweet



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: 70's-90's, AU, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, One Shot, human!Cortana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_but_Sweet/pseuds/Salty_but_Sweet
Summary: The one where John doesn't expect the truth, just reconciliation.





	On a First-Name Basis

**Author's Note:**

> Part 215 of the series ‘Muse Who Overthrew My Writing Schedule’. I think the Wild West AU by Thalius in 'knowing' and the old 'Good cop, bad pants' episode of Simpsons fueled this fic. This is a one-shot for now, but my Muse was kind enough to lend me some backstory, so I might visit this AU sometime in the future.

It was a clear and partially sunny day. There was nothing notable in the news and the Earth rotated on its axis at the angle of 23.4 degrees.

However, against the warm light through the South-East facing windows and the hard, dark-wooden bench under her, it was an unusual day for Cortana.

She had gotten caught on a pilferage few weeks prior and now she was waiting for the trial.

Cortana had read enough law to know that she would get off easily, she knew what to say and how her perfect but still enough remorseful posture at the very moment would let her go with a small fine at maximum.

She hadn’t stolen much and it was much, much less than what she was working with behind the papers that were stating her as guilty today, so it was not a big deal.

She tuned in to hear what the judge had to say, and more out of an act than from heartfelt nervousness, tensed her jaw when she raised her head.

Same went for the brushing off the imaginary fluff from her pressed trousers.

Only thing, only one, that gave her even a tinge of nervousness was the short-haired, older man whose only connection to the case seemed to be her victim — _she hated to think about the word_ — and nothing else.

Whereas her victim had been moderately shaken by the crime and demanded that she would be sentenced with the maximum punishment, the man had been calmer. He had exchanged few words with too many people in the scene, and not so much as openly watching her, but just… being there.

She knew it wasn’t her part to be perturbed by anything or anyone except her wrongdoings and the possible punishment, and she took the verdict coolly under the sweating sun that, by now, had almost passed the windows.

Cortana got up in her lean pantsuit, staying at her spot, letting the ones in a hurry to leave the courtroom first.

“Miss Halsey. Wait up.”

Cortana turned around to come face to face with the victim’s supposed friend.

He was a tall guy, probably ten to twenty years older than her, the skin had marks that told of days, years, under the sun and the short buzz cut made it harder to estimate his age even with her honed skills.

“Sorry?”

“I’m John from the crime prevention programme. We help first-time offenders to get their life in order, stay away from crimes.”

“They didn’t assign me to the program, “ Cortana replied while leaning fleetingly closer to him to make way for the officer passing behind her.

“We volunteer.”

She smiled, “Thank you, but I’ll hardly think that you should spend your efforts on small offenders like me.”

John didn’t seem perturbed by her rejection. He stayed calm and glanced once at the judge and officers collecting their papers within an earshot. “We could offer you assistance and help to minimize the danger of crime renewal.”

Cortana had no interest to tie herself to new acquaints, especially anyone with so conflicting interests, but persevering denial against help wouldn’t go together with her repentant act and they weren’t yet out of the courtroom.

“What do you propose?”

“Come meet me tomorrow. We get the papers from the court; we can take a look at them and make a plan for the future.”

Cortana continued to hold her small bag in a good grip. She wondered briefly whether the man in front of her was an ex-convict, experienced mentor; the composure spoke of years of experience in various situations, but something fought with her first guess. John’s clean but far from fancy jacket bulged over his muscles and his posture made her look like she was bowed in a 90 degree angle, despite the fact that she was craning her neck to meet his gaze. She wanted her papers back — needed them back in case someone would do deeper investigations — wrong name and everything. It seemed like refusal wasn’t really an option.

“Okay, where do you want to meet?”

* * *

“This is your home.”

She let the allegation slip past her lips the moment he opened the door for her.

Neither one of them exchanged greetings.

He was dressed slightly more casually than yesterday, but the outfit was still simple, marred colors on basic pieces. She let the momentary feeling of being right to pass her mind at the sight. She had called a few people, asked around, and found out that he was a retired marine, working the past year or so in the organization. Despite the fact that she didn’t know his motives, the background information gave her a slight reprieve from the fear that they were onto her.

She could deal with this.

She followed John into the small suburban home.

The interior of the house was minimalistic, but it wasn’t a sign of crisp modernity. The only designer choice here seemed to be age, staleness, in the lack of a better term. The style of the furniture, the colors… —everything spoke of past decades and an owner that hadn’t paid heed on catching the latest trends.

Probably not paid interest in asking anybody over, Cortana mused to herself.

She was yet to fully appreciate the sheer size of the man, he had to be over a foot taller than her and the width of his shoulders paled none in comparison. However, his steps were slow and arduous. There was a noticeable limp, especially whenever he put his weight on his left leg.

She tried fervently to solve the puzzle before a chapter from an anatomy book came to her mind.

”You know, you could get surgery for your back,” Cortana quipped.

“It won’t get me back on duty.”

Cortana watched at the style the man moved closer to the bookshelf, the retort rolled one time more than necessary on her tongue, “No, but it could make your life easier.”

John just grunted as a reply, making Cortana mouth a half-amused ‘okay’.

She continued to look around the room, noting the unit and group photos on the available spaces. They were the only ornaments in the otherwise plain room.

“Are you just going to keep me here?”

Her joke didn’t get any other answer than a small side-glance at her direction.

John dug up a dark brown — and clearly old — leather-bound notebook from the drawer before walking back to her. He didn’t raise his eyebrows per se, but you could still read the disapproval over her carefree seating on the chair’s armrest.

“Phone number.”

“Phone number?” Cortana huffed a laugh, “You think you’ll find me again?”

John disregarded how her eyes shone with incredulity. “Phone number. I’ll call, you’ll pick up.”

Cortana didn’t take the notebook John was offering her. Instead, she leaned back, eyeing John with more open distrust. “I don’t work that way.”

It was a less disguised statement than any other she had given in his presence.

“We’ll meet once a week. You pick the day. But I want to be able to reach you.”

“What? In case something happens?”

The man didn’t react and kept handing out the notebook which she finally took in her hands, the black ballpoint pen following suit.

She looked at him from the corners of her eyes when he turned away and left to pick up something she didn’t know.

She hoped it was her papers.

Why would she give her contact information to this man? Realistically she could write any number she wanted to the book, leave this house, and label this day as one that wasn’t worth remembering.

She was already holding the pen on the right angle, but her hand was still. She watched how the man, John, limped to the other room, and then her eyes hit the war photo on the stand next to the doorway. There was something nagging in the back of her mind. Maybe it was the book of space physics placed meticulously in level with the ‘How to Nourish Your Home Plants’ (he didn’t have any) on the full bookshelf, or the unquestioning steadfastness he had taken her in, but something signaled her that he was the type of person she would go to watch a film in a small theatre and be secretly impressed. Intrigued to know more.

John walked back with a piece of cardboard in his hand.

“Contact me if you get in trouble.”

Cortana took the card, watching the neat numbers. There was just a phone number, no name, no address, nothing else.

She gave him the notebook from her lap.

He looked at the number once as if memorizing it before closing the book and taking it back to its original spot.

“You aren’t going to ask if I gave you the right number?”

She got no answer.

“You think, you can get me out of trouble when I end up in one the next time.” She asked slipping the card into her pocket.

She didn’t expect an answer this time around either, but John surprised her. “That’s not the reason why I asked you to contact.” He didn’t take the effort to move away from the drawer again.

Cortana didn’t know what to answer. It wasn’t a sexual proposition — she had gotten enough of those to recognize them — but aside from that she didn’t know how to place his words.

“Miss Halsey.”

She looked up at him, seeing, and hearing, the request to keep the promise when the time came.

“Sure.”


End file.
